Did the butler really do it?

With all the rain we have experienced lately, I found myself with time on my hands waiting for it to stop and go away. Sometimes I curl up with a good book on the couch. Other times I have nestled into my comfy rocker/recliner, gathered my loose yarn and crochet hook in one hand and the remotes in the other. Then the fun begins as I search the networks available for something to either catch my eye or maybe remotely interesting.

Now I love a good book with a rich plot just as much as another. I also enjoy watching a good movie and trying to guess how it’s going to end. Mysteries are my favorite, one, a British murder mystery called “Midsummer Murders.” It is set in an interesting little hamlet where a London law enforcement officer finds himself relocating and trying to solve multiple murders in an hour and a half time slot. The characters are likeable, the scenery very pastoral, and the murders usually multiple for the detectives to solve in such a short time.

The show always opens with a murder committed by a cloaked and gloved assailant, usually using barbaric weapons assumed to be found in everyone’s home. The remaining eighty-five minutes is spent feeding multiple suspects and plots going down unexpected rabbit holes. When it is finally over and Barnaby (the lead detective) apprehends the criminal, you realize you’ve just wasted all that time waiting for a completely unrelated suspect who isn’t introduced until the last five minutes.

By the time we have finished watching the episode, we feel like we’ve been engaged in the children’s board game, Clue, and we’ve discovered weapons, rooms where the crime originated, and of course, the perpetrator. Mrs. Plum did it in the conservatory with a lead pipe.

Only rarely did the butler ever do it, although he makes a prime target of any provincial murder mystery.

My other favorite binge watching was the Agatha Christie mysteries starring my favorite of all time detectives, Hercule Poroit. I still cannot pronounce his name correctly, but I loved watching the mystery unfold alongside this great and mighty detective, who was never wrong.

I also love watching Sherlock Holmes because of the uncanny way his mysteries unfolded.

What I don’t like though, is following the plot, either by book or film, coming to my own conclusions by the information given by the writers and then finding out I was very wrong.

I also love to read a great crime mystery, wondering if I am as smart as the writer, and can wander through his disconnected plot and arrive at the same conclusion as he or she did. And again, if I have dedicated several hours to reading a book, I don’t want to go down the Mad Hatter’s rabbit hole to finally reach the nitty gritty of the story.

There are several good authors who keep me spellbound. Then when I’ve turned the last page, the story isn’t resolved, just temporarily concluded until you read the next book. Just like the old serials written in newspapers years ago.

As a writer, I tend to re-write endings because the book or series sadly disappointed me or left me hanging, wondering what was coming and if the main character would survive yet another encounter with a deranged villain.

Even worse, especially in films, is when writers create a wonderful scene of a loving family or friends. You fall in love with their characters, especially one or two. Then suddenly…bam! They’ve either been hit by a train, kidnapped, or worse.

I am not too proud to tell you I have thrown a paperback or two across the room when they did that.

In my own writing adventures, I find myself questioning whether my thoughts are clear, have I told the story in a way that is interesting enough to make my readers turn the page?

Or do I have a collection of discombobulated thoughts with my plot, pointing out that maybe, just this one time the butler really did do it. We will never know, right?

Look for the sequel coming next year… You may reach Terri at btlacher@sbcglobal.net or at P O Box 28, Center, Texas 75935